


Record Player

by DaMRRM



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Music, Oneshot, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:36:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15964841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaMRRM/pseuds/DaMRRM
Summary: Soul hears music everywhere, has since he was a child.





	Record Player

**Author's Note:**

> This was all inspired by the Cosmo Sheldrake song "Rich". That, and it's inspired by my own experience with music. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Everywhere you look there is music. At first, it doesn’t seem that way. Chaos is a powerful deceiver that way. But if you take the time, you find it. The singing of tire squeaks and songs of sirens. They exist, but at the edge of sensation.  
You can find music in humanity. It exists in the snide comments of wet sneakers rubbing away. You can find it in tapping on keyboards. You can find it even in the monotonous chatter of rumbling crowds. It exists everywhere.  
Soul kept this belief close to his beating heart. He found the ticking of the metropolis to be a simple but intriguing song. It was one you couldn’t help but hear over everything. It was so simple that it had a beauty inside of it.  
Of course, some people didn’t hear it at all. Black Star would complain about boredom often, not bothering to consider opening his ears to the wonders of the outside. Soul would sit and nod patiently in time with the rhythm of papers being flipped. It did occasionally irritate Soul, but he could do nothing about it.  
Of course, Soul hadn't always been this way. It had been a walk in a now-closed garden that had opened his ears. He had been with his grandfather when he rediscovered life.  
At the age of eight, he was particularly prone to boredom. He found family reunions to be particularly taxing, as they would dredge on late into the early hours of the next day. This would often mean that he would be sitting in a chair for hours, silent and waiting for the event to end.  
On one such reunion, Soul was given a chance at freedom. His grandfather, a terrifyingly imposing man stood. “Soul Eater Evans, join me in the garden.”  
Not willing to risk the consequences, Soul scampered to the garden door and awaited his grandfather. Victor slowly turned from the table with a careful nod. He looked up to see Soul, fidgeting with his thumbs, cowering in a corner. Soul’s grandfather had never been particularly good with children. Victor sighed and pensively made his way to the ornate glass door and lowered himself to Soul’s height and whispered, “It’s time for you to hear some music.”  
Soul’s entire face bloomed with excitement. The boy was obviously passionate about music, that was one thing he had in common with the Evans family. The boy didn’t have the usual light tone to his music. He was a minor rarity in the family.  
“Grandfather, what will we listen to?” Soul said in a voice softer than Victor’s.  
Victor smiled, “A new type of music.” Soul’s eyes glistened like stars. Victor knew this child would be brilliant.  
Victor opened the garden door and followed Soul out into the warm summer evening. The stars overhead shone with intent and the moon glowed with anticipation for the night’s event. Fireflies hovered in the air before blinking out into disappearance. The evening night was filled with the hum of cicadas and croaks of small frogs. Occasionally, Soul could hear and owl call.  
Soul headed to his grandfather’s shed, eager to listen to the new music. However, Victor called him back to a small bridge over a manmade waterfall which gurgled softly.  
Soul frowned, “What about the music grandfather?”  
Victor smiled, “You’re already listening.”  
After that evening, Soul felt compelled to listen to all sorts of music, from classical melodies to sampled sounds. Everything to him became music. He was constantly delighted by all sorts of new sounds. He started to collect sounds to use in his compositions. He found music where no one had looked before. The world became his oyster.  
Of course, this was not the same for everyone. Soul’s brother Wes had no understanding of Soul’s interest. He found the process of sampling sounds tedious and uneventful. He couldn’t understand how Soul was able to work with them, layer them, produce music with simple noises like a bike squeaking or a creaking floorboard. Of course he was impressed, but he just couldn’t grasp Soul’s simple philosophy. In a way, Wes felt he was speaking to August Rush. None the less he loved his brother’s composures. After all, he was a bright musician with a curious road ahead of him.  
Wes had bright hopes for Soul. However, Wes, Victor and Soul’s grandmother Lorie were alone in their praise of Soul’s music. More often than not, his mother would complain that Soul was taking too much time recording sound and not enough time creating. Soul’s father thought he was simply a copycat, a loser, and had little time for his son’s creations. Soul’s parents were not alone. Soul seemed to be constantly attacked for his use of sound clips, until he eventually came to hide them from the public eye. Only Wes, Lorie and Victor would ever know of Soul’s past, while all others would see it as a fad and believe he had moved on.  
On the day that Soul performed his piece “Garden”, it became apparent that his interest was not a fad at all. At sixteen, Soul had refined his skills. He had learned how to use sounds in his composures without recording. Instead, he played them all out for people to learn how to hear sounds anew.  
Soul took the audience to when he was a small child in the garden. His grandmother wept when he showed them the stars and moon. His brother smiled when he played the songs of crickets and cicadas. His mother mourned when he played the whistling hoot of an owl. His father was enraged when he performed the intricate gurgling of the waterfall under the bridge. The judges scowled when he played to his grandfather’s soul, weaving simple grace and imposing undertones to create his late grandfather’s presence.  
He lost the audition. Two months later, he lost his family. Soul didn’t mind. With his weapon powers discovered, he had a whole new array of sounds to play with. That was all that really mattered to him. Soul moved to Death City after a month of staying in his parent’s home. He would spend his days in his room or out in the local fields, where he recorded sounds of winds, metal groans and wind chimes. He found peace here amongst the yells of his father, telling him he was worthless and a disgrace. He ignored the sounds of his mother’s crying, but kept a recording that he sometimes still listens to in dark evenings.  
Soul moving to Death City was a bit of an adventure. He still has recordings of the bus and of a drunk man’s snoring. He plans to use it for some percussive baseline soon. Sometime.  
When Soul did arrive in Death City, he first went to the academy. He stayed there for three days, playing piano quietly away in a dark room. That was when the girl arrived.  
She was small, almost diminutive. In a way, she seemed pathetic. Soul gave her a single piercing look before saying, “This is who I am.”


End file.
